Riding my 3-wheeler on a Sunday morning bike ride with David, we pedaled a mile to get donuts (a reward for exercising). We pass by a huge grassy field on our route and paused to watch a man throwing a ball to his dog. A golden retriever, she looked to be a mature animal, but what do I know about dogs. Anyway, that dog wagged and ran and fetched, wagged and fetched, and laid on the cool grass when she wanted to. I can’t say I’ve ever seen a dog take a time out from playing fetch, but this one did. “Her way of saying ‘time to go home’”, the man said.
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Lately I’ve started refusing to fetch, too. Uh, I’m thinking about it, at least. It’s tough to pull off; I block out what it looks like when I’ve fetched for far too long: stumbling, falling on my butt, weaving as I walk — overall, looking like I’m under the influence. More horrible is that I’m inflicting this “new reality” on others, especially David, who I rely on when I get into trouble
As a Marriage & Family therapist and Relationship Coach, being disabled is double-edged. On the one side, I’m a role model for others with disability; the downside is that there are those who are put off by a therapist they may feel they have to take care of — someone who’s “broken” as one guy told me. I hate it when that happens; I feel rejected.
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It doesn’t matter that I don’t want what’s true to be true. It is. Imagining and pretending belong in private, if at all. I can’t take pride unless I have pride; let go of what doesn’t work anymore. Stop running so hard and so far. The reality is more rapid disease progression and I’m pretending nothing’s changed. I can’t take pride unless I have pride; let go of what doesn’t work anymore. Stop running so hard and so far.
Geez, I hate it when a dog’s smarter than me…
Tell me, how ’bout you? Accommodated yourself to your “new reality” yet?